XIII
by Shadow over Egypt
Summary: At night, things come a-visiting. Including nightmares... 'oneshot, Deathshipping and Heartshipping'


**Shadow: ** Too busy to really say that much, except – again – another entry for Compy-kun's contest, this time _Deathshipping _(Ryou Bakura x Yami no Malik). I've added some hinted _Heartshipping _(Yugi Mouto x Ryou Bakura). 

**_Warnings: _**A bit dark. Contains shonen-ai (boy x boy), and mentions of violence.

**_Disclaimer: _**References to Edgar Allan Poe's _The Raven, _William Shakespeare's _The Tempest, _the prayer _Now I Lay me Down to Sleep_ and the children's prayer/rhyme _I See the Moon. _I don't own any of them, 'kay?

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**XIII**

_**-: A Simple Fact to Start With : -**_

**People die.**

The stairs creak as I ascend them, soft squeakings that are as much companions to me as the sole (living) other I share this house with. The stairs' complaints are quiet, comfortable things, the aging wood under the carpet grumbling only a little as I put my weight on it so I may reach the next landing and the solitude of my room.

The house I live in right now isn't a big one, but it's more than adequate enough for two university students who are hardly ever in anyway. (Surprisingly we're both apparently quite tidy souls – in public anyway. My housemate confines his mess to his bedroom, the epitome of organised clutter. Me, I – well, I guess I'm not the neatest of people either, but I'm still somewhat more orderly than plenty of other people my age.) My room is on the side of the corridor opposite the bathroom, with Yugi's room being directly opposite the bathroom itself. He liked the view from the window in that room better and, since I cared rather little for the matter of the landscape outside the house, I let him have it with no complaint.

Yugi – Mouto Yugi – is all I could have wished for in a housemate, especially when going through the stresses of university life. It helps he attends the same institution – the fact he's studying on another course entirely is of little issue -, and he's just…always _there _when I need him, like he's always been there, whether I completely _want_ him there or not. The years haven't changed him in the slightest – well, he's grown a bit since we were sixteen, obviously, and he's got a bit leaner. He's in the bathroom now, just finished in the shower – I heard the sound of the spray stopping as I set foot on the first step downstairs.

Eyeing the thin strip of light under the bathroom door a little balefully I almost _edge _past the occupied room, if I can just get to my own bedroom before –

A click, a door opening.

"Goodnight, Ryou."

I pause, hand upon the doorknob of my room, turning my head slightly so I may look back over my shoulder at the bathroom doorway, at the one who'd called my name. I'd been _so _close…

Yugi stands there, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy white shirt, towelling his tousled hair dry with one hand. Damp locks – still wet from the shower – frame his face, steam wafting from the heated room behind him making him look as if he's just stepped from the clouds, an angel, a god. He looks concerned. Lately, he always looks concerned.

"Goodnight, Yugi." I manage a small smile for him, soft and polite and perfectly neutral.

He approaches me, and his violet eyes are soft and deep and perfectly open. A hand upon my hand, the tips of his fingers still moist from the bathroom steam. "Sleep well." His voice is a murmur, his head close to mine.

…He's handsome up close. And, as a mutual friend once took great delight in informing me, we'd make the most _adorable _cou-

"Ryou?" Yugi has a way of just…_breathing _your name, so softly, so quietly, it can slip in under every one of your defences and strike straight at your heart. He looks wounded, hurt at my silence, hurt at the fact I haven't spoken to him for nearly three weeks and I still have no desire to now – "Is…is anything wrong?"

_Evidently_, Yugi, but – it's not your place to know it. "Everything's fine." I pull out my weak smile again for him, pasting it on, the superficial expression for all occasions. "I've just been busy with my course recently, lab work. You know how it is."

"Oh." He doesn't believe me; I can see it in his eyes. But he won't argue the point; Yugi has never forced himself upon others like that. "Ryou…" His fingers are still resting on my hand and, realising this, he removes them, leaving the imprint of his touch on my skin, "you know…you can always speak to me if you need to, don't you? We've shared some strange experiences together and –"

"I know, Yugi." I feel bad for cutting him off, but I do it anyway. I don't want to – I've never wanted to –

He's Yugi. What is it about Yugi that always makes others feel the need to protect him? He doesn't need it, and I've always felt myself exempt from the majority, being his close friend and everything but – these past few weeks –

I'm just like everyone else.

Yugi pulls back from me a little way, and the loss hurts _me _inside. His voice, if possible, has become quieter now. "You can talk to me about anything, Ryou. I'll always listen." I'm about to brush the comment aside with the rest of his words but his eyes flick up at me for an instant, and their purple colour is so _troubled – _

He's been listening outside my room at night.

Coldness floods through me at the thought, an icy drenching that leaves me shivering. I want to curl up in a ball, mortified; I want to cry; I want to _yell – _What has Yugi heard? How? _How? _It isn't fair; I've tried hard, _so _hard, and it's been eating away at me inside for three weeks and-

Somehow, my voice is still calm. Somehow, I know I'm still standing mostly still, even when my hand is quivering slightly on the doorknob, the metal juddering a little under my palm. It's not loud enough to rattle the wood – _yet. _I twist the knob, opening the door a little. "Goodnight, Yugi." I don't wait for a reply. Instead, I step immediately through into my room, turn around, and shut the door behind me in the face of friendliness, care, and concern. Quietly. And the door is shut on Yugi's violet eyes, and his tousled hair, and his soft, gentle countenance, and I hope he walks away. But he won't, I know him well enough to know he just _won't _walk away, not for a little time. And he'll stand and frown at my closed door, brow wrinkling in thought, and he'll look like a lost wraith in the corridor of this home we share. And then he'll sigh, and shake his head so that golden bangs fly about his cheeks, and then he'll pad slowly, _slowly _away. And I feel bad for tormenting him so.

I start unbuttoning my shirt just inside my room's doorway, but don't bother switching on the light. I know my room like the back of my hand – as the saying goes -, in darkness or in light. The stack of books by my door I carefully step around, closing a text showing a detailed diagram of the inner workings of the human heart that had fallen off the pile and hit the floor, its pages spilling open. Biology – my course at university. Yugi finds it ironic I wish to be a doctor, to preserve life, when I have so much focus for de-

_**-: An Awareness of Time :-**_

**It had been six years since the departure of the Millennium Ring from Ryou Bakura's life, and the spirit of the Item with it.**

My shirt hits the floor, carefully kicked into a slowly accumulating pile in the corner with the tip of my foot. Scrambling around in a drawer I manage to pull out a t-shirt far too large for me and drag it on, pulling my hair out when it gets trapped inside by the collar so that white locks hang in their usual fluffy disarray about my face. I try to focus on my absent annoyance at them rather than wonder about the soul who may still be waiting outside my door –

Dark, dark night. I light the candle on my desk to chase the shadows away; its scent is myrrh. The scattered cards nearby I sweep up into a pile, the grinning skull upon his horse leering at me in the half-light, banner flying, maiden weeping, riding over the crumpled figure of the fallen king. I'd spoken to this symbol many times before the one who called himself my 'other' came along, the tarot a quiet companion wrapped in silk I kept in my drawer, more insightful than some of the others I've randomly called friends over the many years.

_I see the moon_

The open curtains of my window beckon to me, and the dark view beyond.

_The moon sees me_

_God bless the moon –_

The night is black and cold and empty, and where the moon should hang in the sky there is but a bottomless hole. Who stole my silver moon? I thought since the Ring's departure I would have no problem with thieves anymore.

_And God bless me._

Apparently I was wrong.

Even moonless, it's lighter outside than within. Upon the glass of my window I cast no reflection; I am not here. Or I am, and then I'm dreaming…

I scrub at my eyes, feel the tiredness there with the back of my hand. It's been a long day, yet another in a row of them. Undoing my jeans I let them slide to the floor, kick them over to the pile my shirt met not so long ago, standing in the night in my t-shirt and boxer shorts. Socks are disposed of when I wander over to sit on my bed, the mattress dipping under my weight.

Wrapping myself in my quilt to ward off the darkness' chill, I feel I should pray. I'm not sure why; I haven't prayed before going to sleep – not formally, anyway – since my mother died, and that was a long, long time ago. She used to listen to my prayers when she tucked me in at night, smiling at the last subdued 'amen' and kissing my forehead, wishing me sweet dreams. Pleasant dreams. Nights where the bed-bugs didn't bite. (For _years_ I crawled out of bed after her departure from my room, searching for those ill-famed bugs, but never once did I find one. At last, much to my five-year-old self's disgust, I deduced the poor creatures were simply another one of those weird fairytales adults seemed fond of fabricating, and that they were never real to begin with.)

Sweet dreams…sweet prayers bubble up in the back of my mind, words learned to heart, impossible to forget even after years of disuse. Pleas to Mary, Mother; prayers to God. Statements of religion, alleged fact. None of them quite…_fitted, _except –

Everyone dreams of a guardian angel, and I'm no different. Everyone wishes to be cared for, watched over, and loved. Everyone wishes for a little bit of guidance, occasionally, now and then…

The quilt around me is warm and I drag it a little higher, burying my nose in the fabric while I murmur softly to myself. "…Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take…" Praying for the safety of my soul… Ironic, ne? With my life I've had to fear for the safety of my soul as well as my life – another issue added to an already complicated jumble of chaos.

_And if I die before I wake,_

_I'll go to _hell_ for heaven's sake._

Nowhere – _nowhere – _is sacred. Safe. Not completely, however much one prays.

Fears, worries…why do such things always creep up on me when all I wish to do is sleep? These things always seem to come with the darkness, and they haunt me through the daylight hours. I'm just…so tired… Of it all, night after night after night.

The pillow is soft to my head and I sink into it with a sigh, falling down still curled in the quilt. Oblivion encroaches at the edges of my vision; sweet nocturne to lull me to sleep's shores upon the river Acheron.

_**-: An Introduction, Of Sorts :-**_

**Death had visited Ryou Bakura before. **_**Many **_**times before. In fact, you could almost call them 'old friends'. **

I don't know what the time is when I rouse myself again, but it's still dark. The scent of myrrh is heavy in the room, smoky – Yugi would kill me if he'd known I'd left a candle unattended. It's gone out now – the strong smell is the indicator of that -, but I'm a little more preoccupied with the dent in my bed near the small of my back, and the cold, firm fingers I can feel running through my hair.

_Always _the affection for my hair.

I keep still, and pray my 'guest' doesn't realise I'm awake yet. Hope to God I'm _not _awake yet, and this nightmare will fade to be replaced by dreams of – of – of _something _other than this.

_Once upon a midnight dreary…_I have the sudden urge to start laughing hysterically. My mind seizes upon the strangest of things when I'm stressed -

_Quoth the raven, Nevermore.'_

I should have taken English Literature as my course, or Theology. Father always said I had an aptitude for the books, for the myths and the legends and the theories lurking in the corners of the religion, dusty and forgotten by most. Maybe it was something I inherited from him, the attraction to the things half-buried by time, the lure of the past. He _was _an archaeologist, once upon a time, fascinated by ancient beliefs. It's such a pity some of those beliefs now are so fascinated with _me –_

"I know you're awake, little witchlight."

I stiffen instinctively, those fingers pausing their actions at the crown of my skull. The cold dread of before is back, from when I faced Yugi, but now a yawning chasm has gaped inside of me, and the freezing water just keeps tumbling and tumbling down, crashing over me, a waterfall that never ends –

"_Look at me." _The fingers tighten, curl into the roots of my hair and _twist – _eyes watering, I am dragged around, the quilt falling away from my body so I'm shivering in the night air.

Violet eyes laser me, brighter and colder and infinitely more terrifying than Yugi's. His smile is a snake's smile, hissing and poisonous, and his spiked, crazy hair is the colour of stolen gold.

Infinite silence stretches on in front of me, my soul fulfilling its nightly ritual of collapsing immediately before that dreadful, _taunting _gaze. Another scratch on the tally, another day to be added to the twenty-three that have gone before. Three weeks, two days and tonight.

_Come with a thought - I thank thee, Ariel: come._

There is no thanks here for him, he knows this. Instead, only a quiet hate, a painful powerlessness for so many reasons that could be explained as one but – but – I don't _dare – _

I thought I'd seen the last of my 'guest' at Battle City, six – nearly seven – years ago now. My last glimpse? A crazed smile at the other end of the dueling field, a chilling laugh, and then total darkness. When I woke from my coma Yugi swore the darker half of Malik Ishtar was gone, banished, and I believed him, clung to the hope I'd never see that…_madman _ever again. When the Items were destroyed I thought maybe – just maybe – I could finally rest in peace, move on but –

Fingers finally unknot themselves from my hair, sliding down to cup my cheek possessively. This thing of darkness I had to acknowledge mine – my tormenter, my living nightmare. The Spirit of the Ring, only a thousand times worse. _Another_ yami, this one even more nameless than the last, and this one can't be _gone _with the Items because he was never _born _of the Items in the first place. He's eternal, it seems; he's informed me such.

_I hate him._

When the Spirit kisses me it's with all his usual arrogance, his anger, his hate. How can he be icy cold, and his lips still burn? A demon's touch is cold, I know… I let him bruise my mouth, let his nails dig so hard into my arm it _hurts – _

There's a medical kit beneath my bed, and its supply of bandages is almost gone. Rolls of linen, swathes and gauzes carefully taped to skin and hidden under thick cloth and smiles, assurances of being 'fine'. Ropes of ruined white, splotchy or soaked with crimson depending on the mood of my guest, the 'games' of the night before. All of it, carefully hidden in the waste, hidden from Yugi, hidden because – because then it's only me, and I'm used to it.

"Witchlight." He has such a strange name for me, and he always says it with such a damnable smirk that I want to _claw _off of his face.

Witch – for my obsession for magic, for my darkness, for the my lingering abilities with the tarot, with fortunes, with that strange sense of déjà vu –

Light – I am a hikari, always and forever. The lighter side to the _dead _Spirit of the Ring.

The _other _Spirit, the one that comes each night, he –

The yami leaves me and slides off my bed, stands up and strides to inspect the shelves around my room. The more steps he takes away from me the harder it is to discern him from the shadows of the night, blending into the darkness from which he came. Unwilling to sit, abandoned, on my bed I skitter to my own feet, grabbing my thrown-off quilt and draping it around my shoulders as I cross the floor to stand beside my window.

Somewhat nervously I stand there with my covering, watching as the Spirit touches my neatly-stacked tarot deck, laying a finger upon the top card with a smirk. It doesn't surprise me the thirteenth Major card amuses him, _murderer _that he is. He's brought me gifts this past fortnight, after my first week of recalcitrance. Whereas mon hitori no boku gifted me with pretty dolls, curls glossy and faces set in expressions of fear, in horror, the spirit once in control of the Millennium Rod brings me cor-

I don't want to – They _gleamed _under the light of the moon, lips pulled back, mouths gaping as wide as the slashes in their necks, black versus crimson red –

They're his gifts to me, his presents. Pretty things my age almost, innocent in their eternal sleeping. A promise in their giving to me, in his jealousy, should I take another –

He brought me a student from my course once, in those first few nights of giving. She'd smiled at me during a lecture, and then she'd never smiled again.

_**-: The Words Given With The Gift:-**_

"_**For you."**_

The next day, I started avoiding Yugi.

And the Spirit – the _Spirit – _he's the proverbial cat that's caught the canary and brought it to lie at my feet, a sickening offering I have no option to refuse because it's already dead. It's me who has the blood in my mouth, not my feline, feathers cloying and clinging to my tongue.

The Spirit's moved on now…idly studying my range of candles, laying a hand upon the row of pretty silver bells nearby and ringing them, sweet peals calling out from the gloom. I want to rebuke him – he could wake Yugi – but, I…I dare not, and remain mute.

The Spirit smiles my way, eyes dangerously narrowed, but voice forcedly light. "One thing to call me," he lifts a candle, presenting it upon an open palm before putting it back in its place, "and another to send me away." A bell plucked up this time, jingling merrily. "Little _witchlight -"_ A streaking flash of silver, a loud _clang _as something collides with the wall beside my head and I flinch. The bell. The Spirit's voice has lowered, tone deadly. "You need to make up your mind."

Demons come in all shapes and sizes, in all colours and hues. It just so happens I've only known mine to be white-haired or blonde. I don't know where this Spirit has come from, I don't know _how _to get rid of him –

Tanned hands touch a bundle of letters. "What's this?" I pause, mind drawing up a blank, and so he flips open the envelope on the top of the pile, reading aloud: "_Dear Amane -"_

"_Don't touch those!"_

At first, I don't know where those words come from. But then…I see how the Spirit's mouth has closed with a snap, how eerily his violet eyes glow my way. My own chest is heaving, my breath coming in quick, shallow pants. The words…were my own…?

_Oh damn._

The Spirit moves like lightning, dropping the letter I wrote to my dead sister and flashing across the room, slamming me back into the wall. His expression is murderous, _incensed. "What _did you say?!"

I flinch in the face of his anger, at the cruel grip he has around my arms. I can't believe I –

My head is slammed back into the wall once more, skull impacting painfully with the wallpaper, with the plaster beneath. _"I asked you what you said!"_

I take a shuddering breath, a little dizzy from the bright colours flashing in front of my eyes. "I – those letters – I – _please, _leave them alone. They're to my sister."

The Spirit's expression is cold. "Your sister is dead."

And he'd know _so _much about death. _Murderer. _I can feel my hands curling into claws, bile at the back of my throat –

I choke it back, for the sole fact I'm not alone in this house. "That doesn't mean she can't read them."

The Spirit makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, releasing me abruptly and stalking off to continue his explorations. "You're nothing like the Thief."

I slide down the wall when he frees me, one hand rising to touch the sore spot where he held me, my fringe falling to shadow my face. I'll have a bruise there come morning… "Why would I want to be like _him?" _My voice is quiet. My tormenter only shoots me an amused look, returning to his task of systematically toying with all my belongings.

_**-: Did You Know:-**_

**Death, like sorrow, often hangs around for awhile.**

I'm nothing like the Thief. The tomb-robber. The stealer of souls. My other half… Why? Because I don't kill, don't steal. Don't run around placing souls within various objects, or turning my friends into cards and dolls. In the eyes of others, this makes me _less _somehow. Less important? Less noteworthy. Less interesting. Less Bakura.

"Why…" my free hand curls into the carpet, my head hung low, "why are you here, if you think so very little of me? Why are you here at _all?"_

A chuckle, my insides _roiling, _and fingers grab my chin, tilting it upwards. "I should have thought the answer was _obvious, _little witchlight, especially for one as intelligent as you."

I swallow. "And why now? Why now after six _years?"_

The Spirit smirked. "You ask a lot of questions. Why so inquisitive after three _weeks?"_

"Tonight, I – it just…" he shushes me, a finger on my lips, crouched down on his haunches at my level. When he takes the finger it away, he replaces it with his mouth.

His lips…still _burn _as they move over mine. I can feel my own skin _blister, _white-hot pain when he clashes teeth against mine, tongue thieving my air –

My eyes slide closed, watering. I think I whimper, moan, whimper again but still the Spirit doesn't pull away -

He – aside from his fingers holding my chin, aside from the searing kiss, I – he isn't touching me, holding me. He isn't doing anything but _hurt _with this mocking show of near-tenderness, painful affection.

"Please, I -" I try to pull my mouth away but the Spirit doesn't let me. I'm forced to choke words out between gasps for air, around his lips – _"Stop."_

There's a dreadful pause, his grip tightening painfully, my chin going numb from the cold. I can feel tears streaking down my cheeks, wet and warm, but my gaze is – it's lost somewhere, in that – that _madness _of purple –

_**-: A Side-Note, Important Later :-**_

**Yugi didn't sleep very well at nights anymore. He often tossed and turned, consumed by bad dreams. Most of them were about Ryou just lately, as Ryou was his main concern at the moment in time. Ryou, who hadn't been speaking to him…**

**Yugi was at that very moment fetching a glass of water, woken by a strange ringing noise in the house. **

_Yugi._

I _can't –_

There's a gleam of silver, and for an instant I think the Spirit has picked up the bell he threw at me before, but instead –

It's a knife.

Fear lances through me at the sight of the blade and I try to scramble back, but the Spirit follows me all the way and he _smiles – _And then my back is against the wall, and he's still holding my chin, and I've got nowhere to go.

…I'm going to need more bandages, aren't I?

The Spirit – he's not…like the other two yamis were. He's not an incarnation of anyone, not an other half. He's just…an _extension, _if you will. All Malik-kun's anger, grief and hate. Feelings personified. Jealousy, possession, lust. All the sinful, _dark_ feelings.

"Ryou…" His whisper is shadowy against the shell of my air, hot breath gusting down my neck. (My quilt has _long _since been dropped to the floor, a pile around my ankles.) "You're such a pretty little thing, you know that?"

"I – I'm not -"

"_Quiet." _His tone is harsh, and immediately I fall silent. I daren't antagonise him further; in the first few days when I riled him I came out with cuts deep enough to _scar –_

He comes when he wishes, and leaves when he wills, and uses me in the time in-between as he likes.

"I only wish you were more…_obedient…"_

_I'm not a trained _pet!!

The anger must've flashed in my eyes because my companion _growls, _and suddenly the knife in his hand is the knife at my neck, sharp point digging into my skin. He could kill me before he even has to draw another breath –

I close my eyes again, and just pray he'll actually kill me this time. I think, I just – I want this to _end – _

As the days pass he stays longer and longer each night, and I lose myself more and more during the day. I barely speak to _anyone, _never mind Yugi, for fear they'll be too affectionate and my nightly visitor will present me with their lifeless corpse. The last time I laughed was over three weeks ago, the last time I smiled was the hour before my first 'visit'. Maybe I just present the perfect host with the perfect feelings for this deathly parasite to feed upon –

_Wait a minute._

I swallow, feeling the pressure on my throat, the knife-tip directly over my jugular. "Spirit…you never told me why you visit me." It hurts to speak, my mouth burned from the earlier kisses.

Another growl. "I told you it was obvious."

"Not to me." I try to keep my tone light, mostly uninterested. "Do you want me?"

"Don't ask foolish questions." A hand in my hair, harshly pulling.

"Do you…_love _me?"

The knife slipped, and suddenly I have a thin line of fire across my neck, stretching up to my ear. Violet eyes are impossibly cold, and I lower my gaze. "I do not love."

I wince at the knife slash – an accident, or a warning…? "Do you…_need _me?"

Another long pause, and I dare to look up again, into that crazed purple, to see that flash of shock –

"What could I possibly ever need _you _for?" Scorn.

I _saw _that look – I didn't imagine it!! The Spirit _needs _me, but – is it really…?

"Tell me, Spirit…" I take a deep breath. The knife is still next to my head, blade wickedly sharp, "do you think my other half would've been a better host for you to feed from? He was angry _all _the time – which is preferable, rage or sorrow?"

The Spirit falters at my words – so….this is how he supports himself when he should be gone? Lingering, like some malignant disease, at the corners of life, feeding off of the poisonous thoughts, the hate and grief, jealousy and rage, lust and greed. Building himself up out of more darkness and appearing only when the darkness in others is at its most strong -

_Night._

I feel my lip curl gazing at the one who's been messing with my mind for so long – I think I must be suicidal. "You're pathetic."

I don't know what I'm expecting in response to that comment. An explosion of violence, perhaps, a fist slamming into my cheek, my ribs, my throat slit where I sat – _anything _but the dull thump of the knife on the ground beside my hand (the limb quickly shifted away from the sharp edge), the fierce hands locking my head in place so I'm forced to stare into violet flames.

There is – there are so many things I can see there, I – his hands are cold, ice-cold, and they – I can feel myself trembling even though he – Lord, those _eyes-! _They're so – _terrible, _because they – I – what can I – I don't make sense anymore, my mind cannot possibly be – and they're so _deep! _A jumble of fragments tumbling over and over and over and I'm not sure whether I'm burning or drowning or both – my head hurts so much I – why can't I see-? There's not a trace of compassion th- no love, no trust, no – oh, would it hurt you to feel them? _Stop looking at me. _

"Don't – don't touch me." I raise a hand to press it against the limb trapping my face, feeling artic flesh beneath my fingertips. I see how his temper flares in his gaze and, instead of being further cowed, it lends me strength to gather up the scraps of my thoughts, form a cohesive whole – _"I said don't touch me!" _

There's a scowl on the Spirit's face, and then a tautening in his expression – and I can see over his shoulder to where the door has opened and Yugi stands, lips parted in utter surprise, and even from the other side of the room I can feel his overwhelming concern crashing over me, his kindness, his righteous anger and _love_ –

"Yami no Malik?!"

Yugi's feelings are strong and sweet and pure, and even without a 'darker half' hovering over his shoulder it's easy to see he's a light soul, perfect. His steps are rushed as he suddenly darts forward to snatch at the Spirit leaning over me, but even as his hand reaches out to brush the once-yami's back I can feel the skin beneath my own fading, dissolving, turning to smoke and illusion. The insubstantial darkness of night, of blood, of death, melting back into the darkness from where it first came.

Yugi lets out a surprised cry when his hand passes through nought but air, and I reach out quicker than I thought myself able right now to catch his wrist, steady him before he falls. His gaze focuses on me, still looking a little shaken. "Ryou-kun, that _was-?" _

"Yes." My answer's simple.

"And…he's…the one…? These past few weeks?" Yugi should have taken a mathematics course. He's pretty damn quick when he likes at getting his four.

"Yes." I don't think I'm capable of saying anything else…

_"Ryou!"_ I – I have to blink when I'm suddenly assaulted, and wait, and let my mind catch up with me. And, Yugi's arms are around me, tight and warm, and he smells of shampoo, and soap, and – and _Yugi. _"I'm sorry." His apologies are whispered against my hair, soft as a feather's brush. "I'm sorry; I'm _sorry – _Ryou, I should have noticed I -"

I can't speak to halt his flow of words; my throat is suddenly choked, my eyes pricking uncomfortably. Somewhat clumsily I raise my arms, and let myself hug my babbling, contrite housemate back, bury my face in the crook of his shoulder.

"Ryou-kun, I'm so _sorry-" _

I'm not listening anymore. Yugi's words are a loving rush over my head, a warm sea of friendship and safety and starshine. Everything the Spirit is not, and never could be –

Violet eyes burn, flames fierce behind my closed lashes. The feeling of the Spirit's anger, the sudden spike of it when Yugi opened the door - light and darkness, love versus hate, the Spirit's _promise – _

"Yugi –" My first words to my friend, my warm companion, my grip a little tighter around his shoulders, "don't – don't ever -"

"Ryou?" Yugi holds me closely, worried still.

"Yugi, _please…" _I can feel Yugi's heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Proof he's alive. Proof he's not a thing of the night. "Don't ever go away."

**_-: The Promise :- _**

**"People die. People cry. People mourn. I'll be there for you when it happens, and _then _I'll never go away…" **


End file.
